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Because Luca Armani is a means to madness. Being too close for too long would inevitably make me a walking dead man, maybe even before I kill him.
A smile ticks up the corner of his mouth, the predator still in the room. “You can’t take this back, sweetheart. You’re still hungry for my cock.”
I grit my teeth, something seems to resonate well with him. Perhaps the more animalistic part of him. I step away, my heels clattering against the polished wood.
He tucks his cock back into his pants as I fold my arms over my chest and realize the devastating carnage around us. Food is splattered everywhere, and the cake is destroyed. Probably because we’re wearing half of it.
I need to leave. Immediately. If it was just giving Luca sex, I could do that if my life depended on it. This was something entirely different. I’m consumed by him, all my inhibitions left to the wayside.
“Thanks for the meal,” I say looking in the direction I need to leave.
He chuckles. “You can’t seriously be thinking of walking off like that.”
I look down at myself, reminded of the dress that’s a pile of fabric on the floor.
Luca removes his black dress shirt. My mouth snaps shut as his body comes into focus. That can’t be legal.
Eight abs trail down to the V-line of his cock. His belt still casually falls at his waist. And his arms. Fuck me, no wonder he could hold me up with only one arm.
He throws it in my direction. “I’ll have Lorenzo take you home.”
My eyebrows knit in confusion. “You’re going to let me go. Just like that?” I ask, disbelieving. It sounds almost stupid saying it out loud. He might have a sick obsession with me but wasn’t he like most men? He finally got what he wanted. The sex, right?
I truly wanted to believe that’s all this man wanted from me, but I know better than that.
He chuckles as I throw on and quickly button up his shirt, trying to hide away from his piercing gaze. “One would consider dining a whore before shoving her onto her back, rather sweet.”
Fuck Luca Armani. I hate I have no choice but to leave in his shirt but still walk toward the dock with my head held high. Shortly after, his bodyguard, Lorenzo, is stalking behind me.
Fucking jackass. I’m grateful it’s dark and no one watches me leaving the dock in Luca’s shirt truly doing the walk of shame.
I’m certain the only reason he let me go is because the prick likes this little cat and mouse game.
I pray this was enough to satisfy his needs and get me off his mind.
I also wasn’t sure if that’s the only leverage I have to stay alive.
20
LUCA
She shouldn’t be able to get under my skin like this. I’m not entirely sure what she’s trying to provoke, and I want to end her quickly for it, but my curiosity simply won’t allow it. I’ve fucked plenty of women, but I’ve never let one use me for her own pleasure. It was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
Lorenzo opens the car door for me, and I step out. As expected on a Saturday night, Dmitri Volkov is housing up in one of his own clubs called Lev.
The security guard steps to the side, and a group of women in the long line snap a photo of me as I walk past. I wave to them, red spreading across all of their cheeks. Two of them begin whispering to one another, and the two remaining are eye-fucking me like they think I’d ever actually be interested.
Music begins pounding the moment we step into the red leather walled entrance. I sigh as I apply a mask, which is part of the dress code. Accordingly, the black mask I wear matches my all-black suit and dress shirt underneath.
Strobe lights cross the main floor, a few select booths with red leather walls giving them a little privacy. I note a few celebrities in the room as they scream at the DJ with their drinks forever flowing. Where some enjoy the privacy to let their carnal selves out without being identified, others still find ways to wear identifying items so everyone knows exactly who they are.
The music is pounding as I search the higher levels. A staircase flows on either side of the room and newcomers might be mistaken by the thought they have access. Lorenzo pushes people out of my way as I ascend the closest one to me. I ignore entry to the first level where small rooms are lit up in a red hue. Masked women and men offer their themed services. I watch as a couple are pulled in by a dominatrix. The red hue light diminishes, and visibility is limited due to the passersby.
The security guard avoids my gaze and says nothing as I continue to the second floor. Most would be denied entry. However, I’m not denied much these days—unless someone is willing to die for it.
When I reach the second level, an array of various staff are dressed up in lingerie with bunny ears and masks. Dmitri is seated dead center in a white booth, his arm slung over the shoulders of two women.
Unmasked patrons are doing lines of cocaine and shots around him. Despite the atmosphere, what I always find ironic is that I’ve never seen Dmitri drunk. I’ve never even seen him do drugs himself. A man in control with power over his own domain.
